


strangest thing

by meet me at dagobah (Ejunkiet)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Masturbation, Post-TLJ, Touch-Starved Kylo Ren, dark introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/meet%20me%20at%20dagobah
Summary: He can’t stop himself from reaching out across the tenable thing that connects them, far across the reaches of the galaxy, through light years of stars and void and dust.





	strangest thing

**Author's Note:**

> this a dark exploration of the dynamic between Rey and Kylo Ren that was introduced in ‘The Last Jedi’. It’s an honest, non-sympathetic introspective. please keep that in mind, and heed the tags.
> 
> fyi, the working title for this was 'touch-starved kylo ren'.

“We have arrived, sir.”

“Then start repairs.” The officer jerks his head in a sharp nod and turns to leave, but Ren raises a hand, drawing him to a stop. “Make it clear that I am not to be disturbed.”

The door shuts, and he’s makes his way to the private quarters of his command shuttle, the sleek lines of the Upsilon-class star ship cool and familiar.

It's been three days since the confrontation on Crait, and what’s left of the First Order’s fleet has finally made it back to Imperial space, although not before leaving the salt plains of the crystal planet in ruin. It's a poor consolation and does little to ease the sting of the loss, of his own mistakes - his hubris, which had allowed the last few wretched members of the resistance to escape with their lives.

_Leave the past behind. Kill it if you have to._

\--

He’s alone, and he imagines that he isn’t.

She’s there, just as she was the last time he saw her - engine grease on her cheek, the memory of rain water and the ocean in her hair. Determination hardens the line of her jaw as she stares him down.

She stands less than a foot away from him and her hand is on the door release, but she’s hesitating, he can feel the push and pull of her thoughts through the bond, sense the discord there. Her lips twist as her resolve firms, and-

( _A hiss of hydraulics as the airlock slides shut, and the engine roars into life, pulling the old junker into the atmosphere and far from his reach-)_

Her hand falls away from the button, and she takes a step forward into the room.

He meets her halfway.

\--

With just a touch, Rey proves that she can be as gentle as she is cruel.

Her hand meets his skin and he leans into it, needing it, hating his need for it. Just one touch, and it all falls away - the facade of Kylo Ren, the mantle of Supreme Leader - until he's just Ben again, and all of these years of pain and effort have been for nought.

Her fingertips trace his cheek, his jaw, before sliding back into his hair, tangling amongst the strands, and the air escapes his lungs, leaving him winded. He closes his eyes, aware of the tremor in his frame, the shortness of his breath as she presses in close and whispers softly into his ear, “ _Ben_.”

The familiar anger flares up, bright and hot, and his hand reaches up, finds purchase in her hair and twists, just on the edge of pain.  (But he can never bring himself to hurt her, not like this. Not even in his own fantasies.)

_Ben Solo is dead._

She smiles, letting her head fall back, revealing the long, pale stretch of her neck as she huffs out a laugh, and the hand not tangled within his hair reaches down, down, until it settles on the heavy fabric of his pants. He cannot help the small sound that escapes him, more than a gasp, less than a whimper, as he rocks his hips forward to meet her touch. She pulls back before he can find a rhythm, and then she’s moving, slipping out of his grip to sit astride him, bringing them even closer. His breath chokes in his throat as she hums, shifting against him until he groans, and she meets his gaze, a small measure of triumph gleaming there.

“I don't know. He doesn't seem that dead to me.”

 _This won’t work,_ he wants to say, but doesn't. Instead, he adjusts the angle of their hips to bring her closer, gripping her hip to anchor her there as he presses his other palm into the space between her shoulder blades, twisting into her hair as he brings their mouths together in a hard kiss.

Her mouth is hot and wet, and his hands roam across the length of her, relishing the hard angles and soft curves he finds there, until her hips roll into his and all other thoughts flee his mind. Her teeth dig into his lip, and he glances up to find her eyes gleaming, her cheeks flushed red as she sets a steady rhythm, their movements in perfect sync, and he’s reminded of that night in Snoke’s chambers where their minds and blades had worked in unison. He can't stop himself from reaching out across the tenable thing that connects them, far across the reaches of the galaxy, through light years of stars and void and dust.

_Rey._

He doesn't expect a response, and is unsurprised when all that greets him is silence.

\--

He can feel her at the edges of his thoughts, later; a reluctant presence that sharpens as he pushes towards climax, and it's too much and not enough, all at once.

He doubles over, breaking on a sharp exhale, and all he can hear is the roar of his blood, the thundering pace of his heart. He tastes rain water and dust and sand, and it’s her name on his lips when he comes back to himself, released on a shuddering breath. She’s crouched beside where he’s sprawled on the bed, eyes dark and unreadable as she glances over the length of him, taking in the state of him, and finally, finally, she speaks.

_You are pathetic._

“I know,” he says, aloud, and the connection breaks and she’s gone, leaving him panting, alone, sheets slick with sweat and the evidence of his actions.

He doesn't sleep.


End file.
